Drifting Again.

Earlier this evening I was sitting by the fire listening to Julie Fowlis’s album Uam, and went drifting back to another winter five years ago when I listened to it a lot in the same circumstances. It was a time when the priestess and I were becoming uncommonly – and unsustainably – close, a time when little else mattered but the fate of Lancelot and Guinevere, the trials and machinations of Morgan le Fey, and the doomed affair between Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte. The song performed in the following clip was my favourite then, and it remains my favourite now.

(It also took me back a further ten years to the night when I had an argument with the pianist featured in the clip, but that was more irritating than scintillating.)